


My Everblue

by ishippeditovernight (sonofabitch_awesome)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Comforting Castiel, Dean Has Nightmares, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fix-It, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Episode: s12e23 All Along the Watchtower, Songfic, but like a ridiculously long one, me too Dean me too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-15
Updated: 2017-06-15
Packaged: 2018-11-14 09:02:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11204763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonofabitch_awesome/pseuds/ishippeditovernight
Summary: "I'll be fine," Dean said, wishing his heart would calm down. "I know it wasn't real."Sam nodded. "Cas is fine. Right down the hall. Mom too. Remember?""I know," Dean said again. "God, try telling that to my subconscious."-I'm "it was all a dream"ing it BECAUSE I CAN, DAMMIT. And writing this helped a lot. I hope it helps you too. <3





	My Everblue

**Author's Note:**

> They're not detailed, but I should warn for brief mentions of rape and shitty mental torture happening to Cas during the Casifer time.
> 
> -
> 
> This was going to be a songfic, but it in no way fits the way I used to write them. P much when I was a teenager, I wrote songfics designed so you could listen to the song as you read (assuming you read fairly fast). Just a couple paragraphs per verse. I broke out of that style cause it wasn't fun to write in. Entirely too constraining.
> 
> Well, this grew out of my control even with dropping that style. I'd have to play the song like six times for this story! :o But like I said, it was quite therapeutic, so. Thank you, muses!
> 
> -
> 
> Song is Mandy Moore's Everblue, and yes I have used the "happiness isn't a burden" line before somewhere before because it's just. So. Disgustingly perfect. <3
> 
> (sorry for the book length author's note...)
> 
> -Cally

**My Everblue**

 

_How could there not be a blade through his own chest? He grasped at his shirt again, logic gone, fingers and palms seeking the blood that wasn't there, but why would there be a gash of pain this deep without a matching wound?_

_“Wake up. Wake up...”_

_The world swam, but it didn't righten itself. When his tears fell and the world came into clear focus again, Cas was still lying there, brutally black wings on either side of him._

_“Wake the fuck up!”_

_Dean put his hands over his ears and screamed into the night._

“Wake up! Jesus, Dean!”

Sam was cringing as he shook Dean's arm, yanking him back into reality. He covered one of his own ears. “Ow. I was kind of hoping to wait until I had gray hair to go for the hearing aid look.”

Oh. Right.

He stared up at the ceiling and unclenched his hands as the nightmare let go of its vice grip on him. Slid his gaze over to Sam, who was still standing warily next to his bed. “Yeah.” Cleared his throat. “Well, you have gray hair already, so.”

“Shut up,” Sam muttered with an uncertain little laugh. “You okay?”

Dean was trying to remember what he'd read in the past about nightmares and how to deal with them. At least a few websites had mentioned deep breaths. He tried that, breathing evenly for a few measures. “I'll be fine,” he said eventually, wishing his heart would calm down. “I know it wasn't real.”

Sam nodded. “Cas is fine. Right down the hall. Mom too. Remember?”

“I know,” Dean said again. “God, try telling that to my subconscious.”

This had happened about two or three times a week ever since that night a couple months ago. Dean had been knocked unconscious right after Cas had, but the blow to his head was severe enough that he was out for a few hours. During that time he'd fallen into a fucked-up, all-too-real nightmare where basically everything that could have gone wrong, did.

Sam and Crowley deciding to close the rift but the only option being to use Crowley as a sacrifice. Not that it worked in time. Lucifer stabbing Cas— _those images burned into Dean's brain (_ but they didn't happen _) but they're still in there—_ light shining, wings on the ground. Mary trapped in the alternate universe seconds before it slammed shut.

“Dreams, you know?” Sam chewed his lip. “Sometimes they're hard to brush off.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “I feel like such an idiot. None of it even...”

“But still. I mean....” His brother shrugged and took a seat on the foot of the bed. “It's—it's obviously affecting you. Been there, y'know?”

“Mmm.” He still felt dumb.

In reality, Kelly died giving birth, but Jack had immediately slaughtered Lucifer. God, to hear Sam tell it, there was a creepy fucking scene-- Jack was small, but coherent and fully powered up and evil. The rift was still closed, but because of Jack. He apparently had no use for it.

And Crowley was true to his word. He closed the gates of Hell.

Of course, they hadn't been able to find him since then. It didn't look good. Sam had a theory that Jack was _pissed_. But they hadn't been able to find him, either. Not yet.

Mary was hurt in the melee, too. Not as badly as Dean, though. She'd broken a few bones and been briefly knocked out, but had regained consciousness on her own, and Cas had healed her as soon as he could. He hadn't been able to get to Dean right away, though; there was too much chaos by then with Jack and Lucifer.

Dean unthinkingly ran his hand over the area of his bicep that had hit a sharp rock, splitting his arm open. Shitty luck. He'd managed to hit an artery. According to Sam, he'd lost a lot of blood by the time he was healed.

It was strange. He barely remembered any of it. Only the nightmares. They'd lasted through the time that all four of them had spent rebuilding the Bunker, and now that it was more or less the way it had been, they still remained.

He'd had the ones about Mary along with the ones with Cas at first. But they'd faded. He wasn't sure if it was the time they spent together as they worked, or if it was that he hadn't seen what happened to her in the Nightmare as graphically as Cas, but for whatever reason, he knew deep-down inside and out that she was okay. There were no bad dreams about his mother anymore.

“Hey,” Sam said now. “Anything I can do?”

Dean shook his head. “Nah. I'll be-- I'll be okay.”

He hoped.

Well, eventually, he would be, anyway.

Sam got to his feet. “You know we're here, right? All of us.”

God, how pathetic _was_ he? One bad dream and he was the family basket case? Dean groaned and  let his head fall back against the pillow. “Yeah. Yeah, I know, Sam. I'm fine. Go back to bed, all right?”

Sam seemed like he was going to say something else, but then closed his mouth and nodded again. “Good night, Dean.”

“Night.”

 

_Love never comes alone now does it_

_Present perfect tense_

_So you made yourself a little world_

_Where even strangers make more sense_

“...So then when I went back to school after the year off, I realized I wasn't happy with my major after all, and I wanted to do something different.” Dean's date Jennifer shrugged and smiled, reaching for her  drink.

“Yeah, well, gotta do stuff that makes you happy, huh?” Dean smiled, but his heart wasn't really in anything he was doing. He felt strange tonight, sitting there with this woman, a role he'd been in dozens of times before and enjoyed. Why was something so different now?

Jennifer set her glass down. “Mm-hmm. So I'm in child development now and I really do like it better. I'm thinking of becoming a child psychologist.”

Dean nodded. “Kids, huh?” He wracked his brain for something else to add. “You, uh, got any? Or nieces or nephews?”

“Mmm, not any of my own, but I have two nephews...” And she was off again, chattering happily, while Dean sat there feeling like the shittiest person in the world for not being able to concentrate.

Somewhere in the middle of Jennifer talking about her dog Abby, it clicked. This felt weirdly similar to the way it was when Dean was in his FBI role, pretending to be someone he wasn't, trying to work a case. Not that he didn't care. He did. Both during the case and now. But that he wasn't the person who would _really_ care, and he wasn't being himself in either circumstance.

“Jennifer, I'm sorry,” he said finally when there was a lull in the conversation. “I really am, but I'm, uh, not feeling well tonight. Do you mind if we cut things short?”

Of course she didn't. And she understood when he explained, later, in the car. God, she was a good person.

He just wasn't up for the whole date thing right now. Shame.

Back at the bunker, he sat alone in the kitchen with a cup of coffee, staring down at the table. Pondering.

Why the fuck would a shitty nightmare affect him this badly? Was he finally losing it?

-

Cas paused outside the kitchen entrance. He thought he'd heard Dean come back early from his date, but wasn't sure. Glancing in-- yes, there he was with a mug of coffee. He didn't appear happy.

“Dean?” he said quietly, not entering the room yet.

Dean glanced up. “Hey, Cas. Come in.”

Cas hesitantly walked in and took a seat on the other side of the table next to him. “How was your date tonight?”

“Ehhh, she was nice, but I wasn't-- wasn't feeling it.” Dean shrugged and took a slow sip of coffee, his hand grasping the mug like he was trying to soak the warmth of the coffee straight into his soul. It was difficult for Cas to look away from the motions of Dean's throat as he swallowed before setting the cup down. “So I thought it was only fair to let her know and end things before either of us got hurt.”

Cas nodded. “Sounds reasonable.” He shifted in his seat. “How have the nightmares been?”

Dean let out a sound halfway between a sneeze and a laugh. “Boy. Right to the chase there, huh?” He cocked a grin, a too-wide flash of teeth.

And Cas simply waited. He knew Dean. Knew him inside and out, the shape of every cell and the way his brain worked. He knew that there was more eating away at Dean than even Dean realized.

But he wouldn't say anything for now.

“I've slept better,” Dean admitted slowly. “It's--” He studied the seam of the table where it met the wall. “Wasn't a fun dream.” Shook his head. “But, y'know, it _was_ only a nightmare. I should be over it by now, right?”

Cas crossed his arms on the table. “Well, I do have a theory...”

Dammit.

He fell silent. Dean didn't know about what he'd come up with. And-- did he want to bring it up? Did it matter?

“What?” Dean was watching him, curious now. “What theory?”

How much to say, though?

“Cas, what is it?”

 

_Played the pain upright_

_Straight ahead and with the beat_

_You can ease yourself into the light_

_Or keep that record on repeat_

During the time that Lucifer had possessed Cas, he'd learned with utmost certainty how Cas felt about Dean. And when Cas fought for control, Lucifer had used it to torment him, playing out fantasies and vignettes that he had no choice but to view. They could be simple and hard to discern from reality: the three of them (Cas, Dean, Sam) were all in the Bunker or the Impala spending time together, Dean maybe sitting closer to Cas than he usually did, but otherwise exactly as normal. They ranged all the way to explicit sex scenes, where Cas was disturbingly able to feel everything as if it was really happening. And everything in between-- handholding, casual kisses before Dean left to go on a hunt with Sam or Cas had to leave elsewhere.

But all of them, all of them ended with a sadistic twist of some sort. The sex ones, sometimes ended with Not!Dean's form being transformed into Lucifer. Or those casual times in the Bunker or Impala? Oftentimes the falsebrothers would kick Cas out for no reason, occasionally physically. Not!Dean would verbally rip into him during other scenes, bringing up the times Cas had failed or betrayed them.

And there were worse ones, too.

Cas didn't want to think about those.

It hadn't taken long for him to break after a few, retreating into a mental sanctuary of his own where he was content to watch TV in the kitchen of the Bunker and let Lucifer run the show. As long as he stopped Amara, Cas would stop fighting him.

Wasted effort, as it turned out.

“Cas? You okay?” A hand on his arm, gentle, cautious.

He blinked and shook himself out of his reverie. “Yes. I-- I'm fine, Dean.” He lifted his head and met Dean's concerned gaze. “Sorry.”

Dean raised his eyebrows. “So... Your theory?” he asked, removing his hand.

He could still let his friend in on it without telling him the whole truth, couldn't he? Cas merely had to word it carefully. He braided his fingertips together. “Lucifer is-- is a master of concocting devastating scenes in people's minds. Hallucinations and the like.” Cas didn't mention what Sam had gone through. He didn't have to. He knew Dean was thinking of it, too, from the way his eyes flickered briefly to the doorway before returning his attention to Cas.

And then Dean's eyes widened as the implication about Cas's torment hit him as well. “Shit. I... Shit. We really never even...” He exhaled heavily, squeezing the handle of his coffee cup. “Never talked about that much, did we?”

“It's fine, Dean,” Cas said. “I only meant--” _Tread lightly, here,_ he reminded himself. “Perhaps Lucifer knew what sort of scene would hurt you, and when he knocked you out, caused the nightmare. Something he knew would affect you deeply.”

Dean frowned, clearly chewing this over. He slowly drank from his mug and set it down gingerly. “Could be. Could be.” He dragged a hand over his mouth. “But I mean, you... Mom... Wouldn't Sam have been in danger too?”

Cas shook his head. “Not if he didn't want to signal that it was a nightmare. I'm thinking, if all three of us died, you may have started realizing it wasn't real. It wouldn't have affected you as much.”

“Clever.” Dean made a face. “Gotta give it to him a little there. It.. Yeah, it _would_ make sense.”

They fell into an awkward silence.

Cas knew Dean, so he knew Dean's feelings toward him had long since started changing, evolving from camaraderie and friendship to something more. Affection. Even love.

But he also knew that Dean had to accept that on his own time. Dean had a tendency to resist things that could make him happy; not only in relationships but in most areas of his life. He blocked it off because he still felt he was damaged, due in no small part to the way his father had treated him and Sam and compounded by the way their lives affected people they cared about.

Cas knew the feeling, all too well. In fact, it was only the hints of knowing how Dean felt (and god forgive him for cheating and using his grace to read Dean's feelings every now and again) that gave him even a small measure of peace. Otherwise, Cas would probably settle with the assumption that his feelings would always be unrequited.

As it was now, though, he knew he had to wait. Either Dean would take those few faltering? steps toward something that would make him happy—and Cas could then do the same—or he wouldn't, and Cas would stay to the side. Let Dean go his own way for now.

Still, it was funny, Cas thought. He got up and, mostly to have something to do, fumbled with the coffeepot, pouring himself a cup as well. He couldn't exactly begrudge Dean for staying with the way things were. He understood exactly how it felt to remain in a rut-- as painful as it was. It hurt, but it was comfortingly safe at the same time.

Change was hard. Scary.

 

_What if I loved you?_

_What if I loved you?_

_What if I loved you?_

_Everblue_

_Everblue_

That night, for once, Dean's trouble with sleep wasn't from stressing about the nightmares. “Fuck, this is getting old,” he muttered, shifting from his side to his stomach and rolling his eyes.

He briefly considered getting up to take some sleeping pills, but he'd already taken them a couple other nights this week and it probably wasn't a good idea to make a habit of it. Besides, who the hell knew how many were left in the bottle?

No, better to get over his stupid sleep problem like an adult.

His thoughts returned, again, to what Cas had said earlier that evening. About Lucifer (fucking psychopath) triggering the nightmare. Hallucination, whatever. Sort of-- could it be a hallucination if he was passed out? Whatever the fuck it had been.

God, even the mere thought of it, just remembering those images in this context of absently wondering what they were... the blue light, the black on the ground, the red-brown glowing of the rift slamming shut... Coldness spiked down his arms, his heart rate shooting up in panic.

_No-- no-- right in front of him--_

_It wasn't real, it wasn't real, it wasn't real. Cas is okay, Mom's okay, everyone's all right._

Dean couldn't quite calm down, so in a last-ditch effort, he got out of bed and wandered the halls. It was late enough that the others were probably sleeping.

Sam's room. He paused briefly and could hear a faint sound of snoring. Yep. Little brother was okay. He managed to smile and kept on.

Mom's room. He listened and could make out the sound of her breathing evenly through the door. Dean nodded in satisfaction and continued walking.

He doubled back toward the wing where Cas's room was and stopped to see what he could hear. Cas wasn't sleeping-- he rarely did-- but Dean could hear the sound of pages turning.  There was a long pause, and then another page turn.

See? Everybody was fine.

_It's okay. It's okay. It didn't happen._

Back to his room.

He lied back down and took several long, deep breaths, bringing back the memory of Cas sitting with a cup of coffee in the kitchen. Dean's had been decaf due to the sleep problems, but it didn't matter to Cas what his coffee was since sleep was optional to him either way. He enjoyed coffee, though, and his preferences for it ran similar to Dean's-- little sugar, no cream.

_“Something he knew would affect you deeply...”_

What if that meant something more than he thought it did at first? Or was Dean overanalyzing the expression he'd thought he'd seen on Cas's face?

He was no fool. He knew what he was starting to feel for Cas. Had been feeling for a long time, if he was to be completely honest with himself.

But shit. Every time he'd ever tried to be with someone, to be happy... it all went wrong. And he was, to be even more honest with himself, terrified of that happening with Cas.

Besides-- how would he know if Cas felt the same?

And yet, despite all his misgivings, a stupid, stubborn, self-destructive part of him continued to wonder.

What _if_...?

 

_Fight away the sleepless hours_

_Unsettled dreams will make you keep_

_You can paint them all of your brilliant colors_

_Just don't fall off into the deep_

Cas set his book aside. He could no longer even try to pretend to be concentrating at this point.

He wondered if Dean had been able to go to sleep yet. Earlier, Cas had been able to tell Dean was outside in the hall, but he wasn't sure whether or not to open the door and waited to see if Dean was going to knock or otherwise. In the end, it seemed Dean had merely been wandering the halls restlessly. More sleep troubles.

He had absolutely no idea what to do. Should he offer to help Dean sleep? He worried, always, about overstepping things. Especially now, when Dean was still so traumatized by what had happened-- or rather, what _hadn't_ happened.

The room felt stifling to him now, and with a groan of frustration Cas decided to go get a glass of water.

As it turned out, he wasn't the only one to feel closed in. He stopped short in the library before he ever got to the kitchen. “Dean.”

“Oh.” Dean looked up from a notebook he was writing in. “Hey, Cas.”

“Still can't sleep?”

Dean sighed slowly. “Nah. Not really. I thought about trying to-- to, I don't know, organize the books in here or something, but I figured it would be a multiple day job. I'm only gonna be out here a few minutes or something anyway. They say staying in bed fighting sleep is a bad idea, y'know?”

Cas took a seat next to him. “You know I could help you.”

“It's embarrassing,” Dean muttered, closing the notebook and fiddling with the cover. “Like I need tucked in like a baby or something. I should be able to deal with this shit myself.”

“Dean...” Cas gazed at him, wanting desperately to help.

There was another one of those little silences. Dean didn't meet Cas's gaze. Too lost in thought, it seemed.

“Is there--” Cas paused and cleared his throat. “Is there anything else I could do to help?”

No answer for a few seconds. Dean flipped the notebook over and toyed absently with the UPC sticker on the back cover, peeling one of the corners a half-centimeter and then pressing it back again. “You're-- you're pretty much just doing it, Cas. Just being here.” He lifted his head and looked at Cas straight on. “I mean, that helps a lot, knowing you're here, that you didn't really...” Dean inhaled sharply. “It, uh, reminds me it didn't happen.”

Cas nodded. “I'm here.”

Dean was still fiddling with things. He twirled the pen he'd been using to write with. “And-- and Mom, too, it-- it all matters. You all being here, under one roof. It's already helping.”

Cas smiled affectionately, reaching for the hand that was twiddling the pen. “I'm here. Your mother's here. Sam is here. We're not going anywhere, Dean. I promise.” Dean's face blanched, and Cas interlaced their fingers and tightened his grip barely hard enough for the pressure to ground him, to remind Dean how real he was. “I mean it. To the best of my ability, I'll assure that we all remain together, and safe. I know that I can't-- I can't guarantee with absolute _certainty_ , of course. Things could, could be out of my control, but, I mean--”

“Oh, my God, Cas, just stop talking,” Dean groaned, rolling his eyes. But he laughed. Cas felt better at his obvious exasperation.

Another one of those quiet moments descended. This one comfortable, safe; the air filled with warmth and tenderness.

After a while, Dean looked down at their joined hands and seemed to come to a realization. He started  in his chair and swallowed, but he didn't pull away.

A knot of building tension in Cas's stomach loosened.

“Cas, uh...” Dean began quietly. He stopped, gaze still locked on their hands.

When he didn't go on, Cas decided to prompt him. “Yes?”

Dean let out his breath. “Nothing. It's-- Never mind.”

Oh.

Cas pulled his hand away. He couldn't be sure if he was imagining things or not, but he thought Dean's fingers might have grasped a bit tighter for his, a half-second longer or so before they separated. “Well. I'm going to go to my room, then,” he said, and got to his feet.

“Yeah, I'm gonna try and get some sleep myself soon here,” Dean agreed, eyeing his notebook for a second before glancing up at Cas. “Have a good night.”

“Good night, Dean.”

Dean nodded and opened the notebook again. He hesitated before starting to write again-- haltingly, slower than before.

As Cas approached the hallway, he turned one last time to check on Dean. Dean, it seemed, had the same thought and had lifted his head from the journal. He smiled warmly and loosely waved the fingers of his nonwriting hand.

His eyes were a wonderful green in this light.

 

_Happiness is not a burden_

_Oh, how the pendulum will swing_

_I have felt the ground, I've seen the seeds_

_Out of which grew golden wings_

Back in his room, Cas picked up his book again. He tried for three pages to stay focused, but again, it wasn't happening.

He sighed and set it on the nightstand next to his bed, turning on the TV and flipping through different Netflix options without registering most of the titles. Finally, Cas selected a show at random and tried to relax, fiddling absently with the edge of his trenchcoat.

He stared at the screen, picking out patterns of people walking and dialogue inflections moreso than the progression of the storyline.

Clearly, tonight would be one of those nights that would be easy if he could sleep the way humans could. Really sleep, truly, restfully sleep.

-

It had been ten minutes since Cas had left and all Dean had really managed to accomplish was a string of swirl-doodles across the page. He'd tried to finish the thought he started earlier, but coherent thought was gone.

Maybe he was too tired to write. That could be it.

In Dean's heart, though, he knew that wasn't it. He wasn't miraculously free of the insomnia; he wouldn't be able to fall asleep if he tried write now. Besides, he was good at denying what he felt and the issues eating away at him-- but this one had been going on for far too long for him to ignore much longer. Especially with the way he swore he still felt that warmth, that electricity in his hand when Cas had been sitting there with him.

_God, how old are you? Twelve?_

Apparently it didn't matter.

-

Cas was leafing through his book again, but it was so far removed from his concentration that had he not marked his place, he would not have been able to find the difference between where he'd read and where he hadn't. The pages flipping through the air and brushing against his fingers were an attempt to distract himself, but not a successful one, from the feel of Dean's hand against his a moment ago. The flashes of color on the screen in front of him a pale replacement for that flash of green he'd smiled back at just before leaving.

-

Dean wondered, again, why it was that he'd been so affected by the part of the nightmare with Cas. It wasn't only that he'd seen more of Cas's damage than Mary's, or what had happened to Crowley or Rowena. It wasn't only that he'd spent more time around Mary at first after the nightmare, when the three of them worked on the Bunker while Cas tried to find Jack. But it wasn't like Dean was in _love_ with Cas or anything--

The pen fell out of his hand, rolling across the table and tottering along the edge of the table before eventually tipping over the side.

_You fucking dumbass._

That was it, wasn't it? It had to be.

-

Cas had had about enough of trying to fool himself into thinking he could pay attention to anything other than his rambling thoughts. He sighed in annoyance and swung his legs over the side of the bed, getting to his feet.

-

It wasn't just that Dean cared about Cas. He fucking _loved_ him. Really loved him.

Goddamn it.

-

Cas didn't have a destination in mind when he left his room. Maybe the kitchen. Something to snack on. Maybe he would aimlessly wander. If he were to be completely honest, he simply couldn't stand remaining alone in one room with his own thoughts anymore.

Not to mention, he was curious to see if Dean was still up-- if Dean would accept some help getting to sleep.

Dean was sitting in the same position that Cas had left him, but he appeared thunderstruck by something. He was staring into space, eyes a tad wide, but when he realized Cas was there, he started and blinked rapidly. “Oh! Hey.” He recovered quickly. “What's up? Don't tell me you're having problems sleeping, too.” Dean punctuated this with a grin.

“No-- well, the rough equivalent,” Cas admitted, approaching the table. He didn't sit down as before. “I couldn't concentrate on anything. It would be easier if I could sleep, actually.”

“Mmm.” Dean tightened his hands around the notebook and dropped his head.

“Dean?”

And when Dean looked back up at him, there was something different in his eyes. Cas couldn't have pinpointed it, and he had neither the words in English nor Enochian, but something was there that hadn't been when they'd sat together only an hour or so before. Self-realization. And at the same time, fear of that realization.

He frowned. “Dean...”

“Yeah, I know, I'm an idiot,” Dean muttered, breaking the eye contact and curling closer around his journal, shoulders hunched. He knew Cas knew. Of course he did. “You don't have to say anything.”

Well... _technically_ Cas didn't. He stepped a bit closer and placed one hand on Dean's shoulder. That got Dean's attention; he lifted his head and frowned up at Cas. Awkwardly, Cas leaned down, equal parts terrified and hopeful as he shut his eyes.

Cas could hear a tiny exhale of surprise as their lips met, but Dean didn't pull away. It was ordinary, it was simple, it was perfect.

And then they were two separate, scared people again, looking at each other differently, amazed.

“Uh. So that happened,” Dean said.

“Yeah,” Cas agreed.

Dean rubbed the back of his neck. “I-- I liked it.”

“Me too.” Cas bit the inside of his lip to keep his smile from being too embarrassingly wide. He finally took a seat across from Dean, settling in.

They remained in silence for a long time, occasionally glancing at each other and away. Finally, Dean spoke. “Look, Cas, I-- I worry, about, this, y'know? I mean, people in my life... They generally have a habit of... Things not turnin' out good for them. I'm not good for people.”

“But you _are_ good,” Cas said. Dean rolled his eyes. “You are. What others do to those you care about isn't your fault. And what your loved ones do, the risks they take-- that isn't your fault, either.”

Dean rested his forehead in his hand, letting out a low breath.

“I know partially why you've still been having nightmares,” Cas continued. “It's that you feel you should have been there to help us more that night. You worry we all, and I, could have gotten seriously hurt. That isn't on you. You're not responsible for saving everyone. We all carry our own share.”

“I fucked up,” Dean muttered. “I'unno if I'm getting too old here, my reflexes-- Lucifer shouldn't have been able to get me that easy--”

“Dean.” Cas reached for his hand again. “You know damn well if it had been the other way around, and any one of us was knocked out and suffering nightmares this long, that you wouldn't want them feeling this way. Why is it your obligation to always shoulder so much blame?”

Dean tightened his hand on Cas's. He didn't speak.

“Hmm?” Cas wasn't really seeking an answer with the prompt. He was only trying to push the point home a bit.

But Dean surprised him. “Cause it's easier to pretend I have some control over the shit I don't,” he mumbled to the table. “And I don't, if I'm responsible for it all and I've failed, it's easier to justify not-- not trying to be h--” He broke off and shook his head with disgust at himself.

Cas reached across the table for Dean's other hand. When Dean lifted his head and met Cas's gaze, vulnerable green eyes staring into blue, it occurred to Cas that the same could be said for he himself. “Dean, happiness is not a burden,” he said gently.

It occurred to him that that statement could apply to himself as well.

Dean's hands tightened on his. His face was open, soft. He said no more.

After a few minutes they both got up and, silently agreeing, walked to Dean's room together.

 

_What if I loved you?_

_What if I loved you?_

_What if I loved you?_

_Everblue_

_Everblue_

Dean honestly wasn't sure how the hell he expected to sleep _now_ , when he and Cas were in the same bed together.

Not that they were _in bed_ in bed. And not that he was ruling that out, either— _whoa, too soon, Winchester—_ but, they were literally here, lying in his sheets together. Just sort of sharing the space.

“Dean. I know you're not sleeping.”

Busted.

He sighed and opened his eyes. “Yeah. Little keyed up. Sorry.” Cas was watching him with amusement. God, he looked great when he was happy. He looked great all the time, but with that little light in his eyes...

“It's almost three, Dean. Are you sure you don't want me to...”

He cracked a grin. “Nah. I'm-- I'm good. I actually-- it's not for that reason. I'll... I'll calm down in a bit here, sorry.”

Cas raised an eyebrow. “Okay. If you're sure.” His lips twitched. And because Dean noticed that, he couldn't _not_ lean forward and kiss him.

Gradually, though, Dean felt tired enough—finally—for slumber to start to take over. “Hey,” he mumbled as he realized he was falling asleep, “keep 'n eye on 'y dreams?”

“Of course.”

“Mmm. Thanks.”

-

The next morning was the first time in a long time when Dean woke up feeling at peace. No bleary confusion, wondering if he'd had a nightmare; nobody forcing him awake because he'd been yelling in his sleep again; no waking up crying or feeling like he needed to throw up.

He didn't even need to wonder if the previous night was a strange hallucination, either, because as soon as his brain clicked online, he realized he could feel Cas's legs brushing against his from behind. Cas's arm looped around his chest. _Someone's a damn snuggler_ , he thought, but was chewing his lips to keep the stupid smile at bay.

“Good morning, Dean,” Cas said.

Dean shifted to face him. “Morning. Thanks for... for being here.”

“No need to thank me.” There was a warmth and glow to Cas's face that Dean would love to see more often. “I liked being here.”

“Okay, well, we're being way too embarrassing for words,” Dean said, but he was grinning all the same.

Cas returned the smile. “You love it.”

“I know. Can't help it.”

 

_High above the stars are dancing_

_To a song one bird is singing_

_And it's you_

_My Everblue_

They didn't make a big deal about the change in their relationship. But then, they didn't have to. Sam and Mary noticed the way that they sat that little bit closer, looked that little bit longer at each other.

Sam would probably have teased them, but Dean figured after the long weeks he'd been through, Sam was going to give him a break for once and let him be happy for once. (Knowing his brother, though, Sam was going to make up for lost time at some point later.) And for Mary? She had this annoying habit of gazing at him knowingly with a certain look in her eyes and a smile as she went about her business in the Bunker. Dean both loved and was mortified by it all.

He had a dream one night a couple of weeks later that took place near the lake house again. Terror shot through him once he recognized the area, blue fires of fear racing up his arms and over his neck--

But Cas was there, standing next to him, and the tremors began to fade as he reached out and laced his fingers with Dean's. “It's okay, Dean. I'm here. We're only facing your fear is all.”

Dean struggled to control his breathing. “It's dumb, I know--”

“No, it isn't. Your feelings are real, Dean. They matter, even if the nightmare didn't happen.” Cas squeezed his hand. “Don't ever deny the way you felt.”

God, he felt stupid though. He clenched his eyes shut tight to avoid seeing the spot where-- where--

He could hear Cas step around to stand right in front of him. He trailed his other hand up to Dean's shoulder. “Dean. Look at me.”

His breathing was coming in jagged pants. He didn't want to see anything. “Cas, I can't.”

“You can.” Cas kissed him gently, a light press of lips against his. “Try.”

Dean steeled himself and opened his eyes. Cas was watching him, the familiar blue of his gaze already starting to ground him.

“See?” Cas said. “I'm right here with you. I'm fine. We're both okay, Dean.”

He'd be fine as long as the ground never entered his field of vision. Dean nodded shakily, feeling unsteady. “Yeah. I know.”

Cas held his hand a bit tighter again. “Now,” he began. “I'm going to ask you to look at the place where i--”

“No, no, Cas, don't ask me to do that,” Dean begged him, already slamming his eyes shut again in anticipation. God, he was glad his back was to that patch of earth. But still, tremors rippled through him at the very idea. Hell, he was panicking all over again with the very knowledge that he was _here_ , _here_ where it--

“Dean.” Cas's grip on his shoulder and hand was firm, grounding. Not too tight. “Stay with me. I'm here. Right here.”

He tried to psych himself up and peered through his eyelashes at Cas. “I'm-- I'm okay.” He could do this. “I'm okay. I'm okay. I'ma 'kay. I'ma 'kay.”

Cas smiled at him. “Yes, you are. Now. When you're ready, I want you too--”

\--He could feel the blood run screaming from his face--

“-- _when you're ready_ , Dean, I won't push you,” Cas continued. “I'll wait as long as you need to. But you need to face your fear. And I'm right with you.”

Dean nodded shakily. “I kn-- I know.” He clenched Cas's hand and focused on his breathing. In, two, three, four... Out, two, three, four...

It felt like a very long time before he could screw up enough courage, but it was in reality probably only fifteen or twenty minutes. Something like that.

“All right,” he said carefully, balanced on a very narrow ledge of “stable enough to do this” and fully aware he could, any time now, go falling ass over head into the stark terror that lay on either side. “Let's, uh, let's do this.”

Cas studied his expression for a few seconds. “Are you sure?”

“Y-yeah. Ready as I'm ever gonna be, anyway.” Dean licked his lips. Steadying himself. “Just-- just stay with me, okay?”

“Of course.” Cas moved the hand on Dean's shoulder. “On three.”

“Right. One...”

“Two.”

That jagged breathing again. “Three.”

Clutching Cas's hand so tight he was worried he may break some bones, Dean stepped backward into a turn so that he was standing next to him. He stared straight up at the stars for a few seconds, and then slowly forced himself to stare down at the ground.

Cas squeezed back. “I'm still here.”

God, his heart was going to beat its way free of his ribs, sending bone shards flying on its way out. That same ground, that same dirt where-- where he'd seen--

“Breathe, deep breaths, Dean, breathe. You're okay.” Cas let go of the death grip Dean had and wrapped his arm around Dean's shoulders, rubbing his upper arm. He reached across his own torso to awkwardly hold the hand he'd just let go of.

Dean could see, could _see_ the blackness on the ground--

“They're not there, Dean. Whatever you're seeing, they're not there. Breathe.”

He gasped suddenly, realizing he hadn't been inhaling at all, or maybe he had but he'd been trying to do so with his mouth shut, something dumb like that, brain working somewhat now--

\-- _but the blackness_ \--

“I'm okay, Dean, I promise. Listen to my voice.”

He slammed his eyes shut and let Cas's voice wash over him, the deep familiar rumble he loved so much echoing in his soul, the same familiar words, _I'm here I'm here it's not real it never happened I'm here, you're okay_ until semantic satiation kicked in on almost every word and so much of the language sounded as unfamiliar as Enochian and he opened his eyes again.

And the ground--

It was dirt.

That was all.

He blinked in surprise.

“Right here with you still,” Cas was saying. “None of it happened.” He massaged Dean's shoulder a little. “Believe that.”

Dean's breathing was leveling out. He could still see the images of what had happened, but they were under his control now. They'd lost their own power over him.

_Holy shit._

“Dean?”

He looked over at Cas in stunned silence, mouth ajar.

“Are you okay?”

Swallowed and scanned the entire area in wonder. It-- it was only a scenic place. Peaceful, placid, kind of boring in a way.

“Dean?” Cas was frowning at him.

He nodded slowly, focusing his attention on Cas. “Ye—yeah, actually. I think I am,” he said, amazed.

The quiet happy smile on Cas's face was the best part about the whole night.

-

They sat next to the lake for the rest of the dream, staring up at the stars. Dean was pretty sure he'd never get tired of seeing the stars like this.

“So, is-- I know this isn't _really_ real, I'm dreaming, but did this actually help? Did we do any real work here?” he asked, tracing his thumb over the back of Cas's hand.

Cas gazed back at him with so much love in his face that Dean honest-to-god blushed. “Yes. You don't think I'm merely part of your subconscious here, do you?”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Augh, you creeper.” But he couldn't hide his grin as he tilted his head back up to watch the sky.

 

_What if I loved you?_

_What if I loved you?_

Mary was wandering back down the hallway, returning to her room. Seconds before, she had realized she'd left her phone on her side table. She was expecting a text back from a contact in Arizona about a case.

On the way, instead of heading back to the kitchen for breakfast, she veered toward the wing where Dean's room was. She was curious if he was up yet; if the nightmares had woken him up again.

She paused next to his door, but didn't hear any alarmed yelling, or Dean bustling around. Complete silence, in fact.

Mary frowned. Was he still sleeping? It was late for him.

Cautiously, she opened the door an inch and peered in. Just to check.

He _was_ asleep. And he was fine.

She smiled to herself and pulled the door shut, returning on her way to the kitchen.

“Morning, Mom,” Sam said, one hand wrapped almost all the way around his coffee mug as he scanned something on his laptop. He tilted his head, glancing behind her for a moment. “I made pancakes if you want any.”

Mary went to pour herself a cup of coffee, humming softly and aimlessly. “Mmm. Thanks, honey.”

As she sat down with her coffee and an empty plate, forking some pancakes over from the stack in the middle of the table, Sam frowned. “Did you see Dean? He up yet?”

“Uh, no, he's not.” Mary poured some syrup and held back a relieved grin. “I actually-- I peeked in, and he's still sleeping, so I thought I'd let him rest for a while.”

Sam drummed his fingers on the table. “I wonder. These nightmares... Maybe there's something Cas can do to help them stop?”

Mary pictured the scene she'd witnessed minutes earlier: Dean looking more at peace than she'd seen him-- well, _ever._   Sleeping contently, with Cas lying there holding him, the trench coat partially covering Dean's legs and Cas's eyes closed as he, too, rested. The covers had been kicked off the bed (probably from Dean during a bad dream before that little moment of peace). But Mary had a sneaking suspicion the nightmares wouldn't be quite such a problem from here on out.

“I think he already is,” Mary said thoughtfully.

 

_You know I love you_

_My Everblue, Everblue_

_Everblue... Everblue_

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [tumblr](http://ishippeditovernight.tumblr.com/)! <3


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